


Just a moment

by notjustmom



Series: Just Curious [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, M/M, Mostly Fluff, with bits of heavy angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-11 20:51:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 6,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13532310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: home





	1. Chapter 1

"One last step..." Sherlock tightened his arm around John's waist, as he felt him tiring. "...and then..."

"Boys! Dr. Watson - I made you a nice tea, just don't expect... oh, Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson patted his cheek and he rolled his eyes, but he kissed her cheek and beamed at her. "I'll leave you to settle in - I know you know..."

John nodded and took her hand. "I do, thank you, Mrs. Hudson."

"Sherlock, he's as lovely as you said."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her and she shrugged, then sang out as she went down the stairs "remember, not your housekeeper..."

John leaned against Sherlock and closed his eyes, then opened them again and looked around. "This is y - ours?"

"Uhmhmm... there are two bedrooms... if you think..." Sherlock grinned at him, then sighed as John tangled his fingers into his unruly curls and pulled him into a long, heated kiss. "Never mind..." he mumbled when he was able to find his voice again. "Honestly, all I want to do is..."

"Sleep?"

Sherlock nodded, took John's hand in his, and whispered, "I - I'm so happy you're here, John. Will you, come take a rest with me?"

"Nothing I'd like better, love."

Sherlock smiled at him, led him to the bedroom and pushed the door open. "It's -"

"You. It's exactly how I imagined it."

Sherlock chuckled as he settled John on the edge of the bed, then took off his own coat and jacket, toed off his shoes and asked him quietly, "you thought about what my bedroom looked like?"

John slipped out of his shoes and grinned at him. "I did, when we would talk, and I knew you were in here, I could hear it in your voice. I imagined what it would be like to be here with you, next to you, to rest my head on your shoulder, feel your heartbeat under my fingers..."

"John..." Sherlock leaned down and kissed him softly, then whispered, "you don't have to imagine anymore, you're here, with me. We're here, John."

"May I?" John laid his hand over Sherlock's chest and they both stilled, until the only sounds they could hear was them breathing together, over the noise of London's late morning traffic.

"Please?"

John nodded and began to unbutton Sherlock's shirt. "You'll tell me -"

Sherlock blinked at him. "I - there are -"

"I know. We all carry scars, Sherlock -"

"But -"

John undid the cuffs of Sherlock's shirt and carefully pushed the shirt from his shoulders, letting it flutter to the floor, then after helping him into bed, limped slowly to the other side and gingerly stretched out next to him. "My god...I could spend the rest of my life in this bed..."

"That's my hope," Sherlock smirked at him, his anxiety driven away by John's laughter.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock shivered as someone was running their fingers over his wrist and up to his elbow - places that had never been touched in love, were now being kissed - and now - god - he was afraid to open his eyes in case it was a dream, and then a breath blew at his ear...

"Morning, sleepyhead."

"Wha -?" He cautiously opened his eyes to find... "John."

"Uhmmhmm..."

Sherlock reached out a shaky hand and touched John's smiling lips. "You're real."

"Hmm."

"Do you - did you find the loo?"

"Yup."

"Take your meds?"

"Yup... found the tea - and someone stocked up your cupboards nicely - won't need to go to the shops for a while..."

"Our cupboards."

John blinked at him. "Ours."

"Hmm."

"I did notice your, our, rather lovely bathtub... was wondering... if you -"

"Then you saw the bubbles..."

"I did..."

"You like bubble baths."

"Hmmm."

Sherlock grinned at him, then kissed his forehead, his nose, which made John roll his eyes, and finally pulled him into a deep, tender kiss which made John melt against him. "Good morning, John."

"It is, isn't it?"

"Hmm."


	3. Chapter 3

John leaned back into Sherlock and closed his eyes.

Sherlock gently washed John's chest then nuzzled his neck, feeling him relax even more against him. He wanted. God, he wanted to know - but he didn't want to ask, he was afraid that he wouldn't want to hear the answer.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Hmmm?"

"Sorry. I just wondered... what you are thinking about right now?"

"I wasn't. No. That's not true. I was thinking..." He laid his hand over Sherlock's and threaded their fingers together. "I was thinking how beautiful you are, and how much I wanted to tell you that. But I know - without even looking at your face, you don't believe me - and you aren't beautiful because you saved me. Which you did. Or because you have the most stunning eyes I've ever seen - or the most expressive hands... perhaps it's the wrong word, beautiful. But then I think about it, and no, it's the only word that fits you. So, you are stuck with it. Sorry."

Sherlock was quiet for a few beats then kissed John's shoulder. He felt him draw in a sharp breath, then slowly release it. "I've never - people. People don't get - I don't let them close enough to see me. I learned early on that if you let your guard down, just the tiniest bit, most people either want too much, or they see too much and don't like what they see, and they walk away, or expect me to change for them. I've always been 'too much,' for people. Either too quiet, too loud, too tall, too thin - too smart... usually too smart-arse... beautiful? No. No one -" He laid his hand over John's heart and took a breath. "You are the first to get close enough to - let me - believe that - that I - deserved - to have -"

John turned carefully in his arms and saw the pain in Sherlock's eyes, no tears, just something so deep, that it made him swear at the people who had come before him. "Love. I'm so sorry - I'm sorry that anyone could hurt you, intentionally or not - Sherlock. I'm not - I've never been great at these things - people things, talking things out - you make me want to - I want to know - I want you to know - I don't want you to ever wonder what I'm thinking about... do you know how very much I love you? I don't even - I can't begin to understand it - but - all I know is that I - all I want to do for the rest of my life is love you. I don't care what else I do -"

"John."

"Yeah?"

"Water's cold."

"Oh. Yeah."

"And I'm starving, and all that - that you just said?"

"Yeah?"

"Me too, all of it."

"Good." John grinned and kissed him, then laughed as Sherlock's teeth chattered. "Time to get out."

"Let me help you?"

John nodded and watched as Sherlock stepped out first, dried off, and then carefully helped him from the tub and took his time to dry him, then wrap the towel around him.

"Let's get dressed and -"

"Lasagne?"

Sherlock laughed and smiled at him. "Just what I was thinking."


	4. Chapter 4

"Sherlock!"

"Angelo -" John nearly stepped in front of Sherlock to protect him from the man who was bearing down on them, when he saw the man's face. A look of sheer joy came over his face and Sherlock nodded at John as if to reassure him.

"And - no? You finally? I know it's early, but, a candle? At your table - for you and your -"

"Angelo, this is John, you've been cooking for him the last couple of months."

"Not THE John - Dr. Watson. Please, follow me, Sherlock has always - he's - like a son, he's brilliant, a genius, doesn't eat enough - maybe you can help -"

"Feed him up?" John winked back at Sherlock.

"Precisely. Too thin - always too thin, but - he's - sit, both of you sit. You are happy, yes?"

Sherlock blushed but nodded. "Yes, and starving."

"Lasagne, garlic bread? Yes? Wine - hmm, no never too early for a good bottle of wine and your brother told me to give you one of the good bottles when you came to see me... One big dish - yes... this one - ah, you will find out soon enough... Billy!! Candle!"

"So... I'm assuming there is a story?" John asked as he shifted in his seat.

"I may have - in one of my more sober moments, saved him from being arrested for a triple homicide..."

"How?"

"By proving I was on the other side of town -"

"Breaking into a jewelry store..." Sherlock muttered as Angelo poured out a small amount of wine for him to taste.

"Still - he stopped me from serving time -"

"You still served time, Angelo."

"Only a few months, and I needed a bit of rest... and then there was the "headless -"

"Angelo..."

"Perhaps another time?" Angelo winked at John and went to check on the garlic bread.

"Headless... "

"Headless nun." Sherlock sighed and poured John a glass of wine. "One of my early cases. It wasn't my case, technically. Before I became a consultant, I would read the police reports -"

"You would hack into the Met computer system?" John shook his head and gazed at the man next to him with new appreciation.

"Child's play." Sherlock smirked into his wine glass.

John snorted and took a sip of wine. "Ohhh. Your brother has good taste."

Sherlock nodded, and swirled the wine in his glass. "I was a bit, hmm, reckless, back then."

John heard something in his voice that made put his glass down. "What is it?"

"I - I'm good at - I used to be good at solving cases, at puzzles, and I didn't have, I had no reason to be cautious, because I didn't have anyone, who would care if something happened to me. And now -"

"Now?" John asked quietly.

"When you are, once we get, I don't know, settled, and you, we are, if you don't want - if - damn. I - want to try to work cases again, when it's easier for you to get around, but I won't - I will try not to do anything that -"

John took Sherlock's hand and traced the scars he had noticed earlier that morning. "I don't want to be the reason you stop doing something you love. I don't want you to be afraid that -"

"It's just sometimes, I get lost, I focus so hard on solving the case that I lose track of everything - everyone - and you haven't seen that side of me - you - I - on crime scenes, most people don't - don't like me very much, Lestrade tolerates me, but the others -"

"Is it something you love?" 

"It is why - it used to be why - the only reason I thought I was necessary. But, I don't know any more. It's just people you will meet, expect me to be a certain way - and might react badly if they see - if they know -"

John nodded, and smiled at Angelo as he placed a heaping bowl of lasagne and basket of garlic bread on their table and winked at him, then moved away from the table silently. "You don't want people to know what we are to each other?"

Sherlock shook his head. "I don't know - I mean they already think I'm a freak -"

"Stop."

"John - I'm used to it, it's how people have always treated me."

"Not any longer."

"John. People aren't going to change just because -"

"I love you?"

Sherlock shrugged and nodded.

"We'll see about that. But at the moment, I'm starving, and you will eat some. Hey, love. Look at me?" Sherlock glanced over at him and John sighed. "You are too precious - you still don't believe that, do you?"

Sherlock shook his head, and searched John's face for an answer. 

"Right now, I want to drink this lovely bottle of wine with you, or at least a glass or two of it, eat this amazing food, get some dessert to take home with us, then go home and -"

Sherlock stopped his words with a kiss, and smiled at him. "I'm an idiot - and you -"

"Here - eat." John pushed a forkful of lasagne into Sherlock's mouth, and chuckled at the expression in his eyes. "I do love you, even when you are being an idiot. Especially when you look at me like that -"

"Boys? How is everything?"

"Perfect, Angelo. Absolutely perfect." John mumbled as he laid his fork down and pulled Sherlock into a kiss. "Can we get some cannoli to go?"


	5. Chapter 5

"I've got you."

"Sherlock."

"Yep, two more steps. Maybe we should hold off on wine with lunch for a while, hmm?"

"Just not used to it - been awhile..."

"I know." Sherlock sat him on the bed and eased off his shoes, then helped him onto the bed.

"Sorry -"

"Nope."

"I mean - for what I said, at Angelo's. I just wish - everyone could see you as I do."

Sherlock slipped out of his shoes and climbed into bed next to him. "I can't be like this around other people. I know, I can sense how people will react to me, even if they have never met me - I don't know how to explain it, I guess my defenses go up before they can get to me. You were different." He rested his hand over John's chest and John closed his eyes, as his fingers found Sherlock's.

"Different, how?"

"You gave me a chance. I couldn't read your face, your tells, I only knew what you told me, I had to trust you, without all the data, and you were there - your words, your presence was there when I needed you. You just seemed to know, and you let me trust myself. I haven't trusted anyone in such a long time, myself most of all. And then, when I could hear your voice, and you laughed. When I made you laugh, but in a way that wasn't laughing at me, I think something snapped in me, I felt something just let go -"

"I know."

"But I can't - I'm - who I am when I am with you, isn't something I want to share. What we are together is -"

"Private."

Sherlock nodded. "And not because I don't want people to know I love you, and that you love me - I have to get accustomed to you, to this - to knowing when I reach for you, you are real. I'm still learning how to do this - how to walk around knowing you love me, and that I can love you - and it doesn't hurt. It's like -"

"A high-wire act." John whispered.

"Yeah."

"Do ya mind, if I take a nap..."

"Of course not, you're supposed to be resting."

"Will you stay, please?"

"Of course." Sherlock laid down on his side, and John moved to curl around him.

"Love you."

"Love you, too."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where John meets Lestrade... and Sherlock plays nice.
> 
> In this verse, Molly is older and she and Greg have kids.

"Whoo - hoo... boys?" Mrs. Hudson pushed open the door to the flat.

"Mrs. Hudson?" John limped from the kitchen, holding a mug of tea. Somehow the powers that be had found the stuff he had put away in storage and brought it over. "Something wrong?"

"DI Lestrade is downstairs. I guess he tried the buzzer..." She walked into the kitchen and opened the freezer. "Ah... must have put it in here, before... Sherlock isn't, wasn't - he says he has a case, wondering if Sherlock -"

"He's still asleep, but if he wants to come up..."

"You got him to sleep?" Mrs. Hudson looked over the young man for a moment, then nodded and kissed his cheek, as if to say, "you'll do," then went back downstairs. John walked over to the over-stuffed chair by the fireplace and sank into it, and wondered not for the first time that week how he ended up here...

"Dr. Watson?"

John looked up to see an older man, probably late 40s with wild grey hair, as if he spent a good amount of time running his fingers through it, or pulling it in frustration, and smirked as he considered how much of the grey could be directly related to Sherlock in one way or another. "DI Lestrade."

"I talked to Mycroft and he said Sherlock was back home - I know it hasn't been -" Lestrade nodded over to Sherlock's chair and John shrugged, as he sat down.

"Tea?"

"Nah... I'm more of a coffee guy, but, thanks. Mycroft told me - uhm... it's -"

"Just ask, and if I feel like answering, I'll tell you." John grinned at him.

"Fair enough," Lestrade chuckled. "I've known Sherlock since he was nineteen, and I've never known him to have a - well, a - friend... or flat mate -"

"So, you don't consider yourself his friend?"

Lestrade started. "Uhm. A friend... no, not - he isn't - I'm more of a mentor, I guess? Mostly, I try to keep him out of trouble. He's not someone who... let me start over."

John took a sip of tea and nodded. 

"He's a brilliant kid. He can see things, that most of us can't, and he's made my life a helluva lot easier in some ways, in other ways, to be honest, he's a right pain in the arse. I thought this last time - I didn't think he'd make it, and now, I hear he's home, and has someone living with him, right out of rehab, and I -"

"So, you are worried about him?"

"Course I am. I've known him a long time, and I - I do care, Dr. Watson -"

"John."

"John. I wanted to see if he was okay, usually when he gets out of rehab, he's texting me the minute he gets out, already bored, and - this time was his longest stint, and -"

"He's fine."

"He's fine?" Lestrade looked at the man who seemed to fit in the flat, as if he had always been there; there was something protective about him. He realised John was trying to decide about him - and it reminded him of how Sherlock could look right through someone and...

"If you're curious, just ask."

"Right. So, you're a doctor?"

"Was."

"Was?"

"Trained to be a surgeon, went to Afghanistan, got shot, came home."

"And you met Sherlock..."

"Commented on his website."

"His website? You actually read it?"

"Yeah - a bit over my head, but it was better than the crap telly that was on that day."

"And..."

"A couple months later, we ended up here."

"So you're..."

"Flat mates, friends and partners, in every sense of the word." John watched Lestrade's face for a reaction, and was relieved to see a smile on his face.

"That's brilliant - good. I - I'm guessing, he may have told you, his, uhm, people skills..."

"Aren't great?" John smiled at him.

"Yeah, that's one way of putting it..." Lestrade dragged his fingers through his hair and sighed. "He could be a great cop - but he doesn't -"

"Play well with others?" Sherlock muttered from the kitchen, as he poured himself a mug of tea.

Lestrade nearly jumped from the chair and cleared his throat. "Sorry -"

"No, it's fine, sit, I put on some coffee - still not a tea drinker, right?"

"Uhm, ta." 

"Did Mycroft send you, or did curiosity get the best of you, Lestrade?"

"I just wanted to see how you were, I have a couple of cases, and thought you might be bored..."

"Nope. Not bored, thanks for asking though."

John rolled his eyes, got up slowly and walked into the kitchen. "Give him a chance, hmm? I think he called your brother - he's honestly just worried. Go and talk to him. I'm going to get a shower -"

"Are you sure you don't need -"

John grinned at him and kissed him gently. "Play nice."

Sherlock snorted, but nodded. "Just - if you need me -"

"You'll know."

John left the kitchen and walked over to Lestrade, offering him his hand. "It is good to meet you - Lestrade."

"Greg."

"Greg." John picked up his mug and left the room.

"Milk, right?"

"Hmm?"

"You still take milk in your coffee?"

"Yeah. I didn't think you -"

Sherlock brought out a tray and placed on the side table. "And you liked the chocolate biscuits. You probably missed dinner again - and Molly -"

"Late shift."

"The kids?"

"Good - they're fine - listen... I -"

"I'm sorry."

"What?"

"Don't worry - it's not a 12 step program. I just know over the past few years... I've, as you said, been a pain in the arse more often than not. There are, were reasons for that - and I - can't - I'm not really -"

"You and John?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him.

"Serious, then?"

"Yeah."

"It's good?"

Sherlock nodded and cleared his throat. "I didn't understand the attraction of - well, I didn't honestly know - and - yeah, it's better than good."

Lestrade picked up his cup and sniffed at it.

"Not drugged," Sherlock snorted.

"Just checking."

"Now, if you had sent Donovan..."

"Sherlock..."

"Kidding, I'm kidding."


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rating bump...

Sherlock walked into the bathroom and undressed, then pulled the curtain back just enough to step behind John, and wrap his arms around him.

"Hey. How did it go?" John leaned back into Sherlock and smiled as he heard him sigh.

"Good. He left me a couple of files to look at." Sherlock kissed his neck and pulled him closer.

"Damn. Hmmm, and you aren't - Sherlock -" Sherlock ran his fingers down John's side and felt him shiver at his touch.

"Is this okay?"

"Hmmm - yeah - just -" John's voice dropped as he felt Sherlock's breath at his ear.

"Can I touch you, John?"

"Please?"

Sherlock ran his long fingers over John's tight abs, then through the golden curls, and took his long length in his hand, sighing as he felt it harden at his touch.

"Sherlock..."

"I'm here, John, I have you." Sherlock stroked him gently, and felt John's legs tremble against him. "I have you - just let me -" 

"I - "

Sherlock stroked him harder, taking his time, feeling how John reacted to changes in his touch, listening to the changes in John's breathing, in the small sounds he was trying not to make.. "I want to hear you, John. Let me know how it feels when I touch you..."

"God - it feels - you - hmmmmgggg - I - Sherlock -" Sherlock caught John in his arms as his knees buckled and together they settled into the tub, as the hot water ran over them.

"John? Are you - was it, I..."

"No - yes, god - it has just been - a long time, since I - since anyone..." John curled up in Sherlock's arms, and sobbed as he felt Sherlock tighten his embrace around him. "I just never thought anyone would ever want me again - I thought -"

"I do, John. I want you, all of you..." Sherlock whispered as the water began to run cold. "Right now, I'm going to get you out of this tub and put us back to bed."

John sniffed and nodded, then looked up at him. "What about the cases?"

"Threes at the most, I'll look at them tomorrow."

"Threes?"

"I usually won't leave the flat unless they are are at least a seven - on a scale of one to ten... threes I usually solve before the kettle is ready."

"Yer an arrogant sod, aren't you?"

"Sometimes, yes, but I hope - I hope you know you will always be more important than any case."

"What about a ten?"

"Wellll...."

"Berk."

Sherlock's eyes glittered at him. "Even a ten, John. You are more - you are -"

"Everything, Sherlock." John pulled him into a gentle kiss, then sneezed.

"Out! Getting you out now."

"I love you."

"Yeah... love you, too. But let's not have you go back in hospital for pneumonia just a couple days after you get out, hmm?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of warning, John tells Sherlock of what happened the night he tried to kill himself, so this is a tough chapter, but this conversation needed to happen eventually, and it begins here - ends fluffily, I promise.

"Play something for me?" 

"What?"

"You said that you played at all hours... "

Sherlock met John's eyes and nodded. He knew he could have told him no, he could have explained, and he would have understood, if anyone would, it would be John. But he had to know if he could do it. He put his mug of tea down and got up from his chair, hoping that Mycroft had enough time to fix it. He opened his case and breathed out a sigh of relief, the strings were all restrung, the bow had been replaced, as if nothing had happened.

"Any requests?" He asked quietly.

John narrowed his eyes at him, but shook his head. "Anything. I just want to hear you - only if you want to -"

Sherlock nodded, and took out the instrument and the bow, and raised the violin. He drew the bow across the strings, and knew Mycroft had tuned it himself. He knew Sherlock hated anyone else touching it - so he had done it for him, himself. "Damn."

"Sherlock?" John got up out of his chair and walked over to him. He shook his head and took the violin from Sherlock's hands, and placed it back in the case, then held out his hands for the bow. "You know you can tell me anything?"

Sherlock nodded. "I do." He handed him the bow and watched him carefully place it back in the case, then close it. Somehow he knew this moment was important to what would happen between them, and he hoped John knew what to do, because he didn't have a clue. John took Sherlock by the hand and walked them over to the couch. He sat down, then patted the spot next to him. Sherlock nodded, then eased himself down, and rested his head in John's lap. John laid his hand in Sherlock's curls and took a deep breath. 

"I was afraid to sleep. That's what started it, really. Every time I'd close my eyes, I'd see everyone I couldn't save, it was different every time, never the same dream twice. So, I started pretending to take the pills, and then I'd put them away. No one noticed." He threaded his fingers through Sherlock's hair and blew out a breath. "I'd saved them for a couple of weeks, I had plenty of them. But I just couldn't do it. I don't know why. And then - one night, I was flipping through the channels, and stopped at one of those movies, you know the kind, where it seems like it can't possibly end happily, but somehow it does? Everyone ends up with the person they are 'meant to be with' and the bad guys are all vanquished, and I realised that it was never going to happen for me. It was stupid, but, I hadn't really slept for a couple of weeks, the tremor in my hand wasn't easing, no matter what I did, and my ex had written me a letter - for some reason they ended up contacting her to let her know what had happened to me. It was -"

"the perfect storm," Sherlock mumbled.

"Yeah, something like that. So I took them - every single one of them - took me a while - but the damn night nurse caught me swallowing the last of them, and they managed to save me. They moved me to where you met me. I essentially stopped talking, I just stopped doing anything, and then Dr. Lincoln gave me a laptop and suggested I start a blog, and a week later, I found your website."

Sherlock closed his eyes, then began. "It was a case. I had been out of the last rehab for a couple of months, and thought I had been 'fixed.' Or they thought I had been fixed. I did the dance for them, told them what they wanted to hear. I've spent most of my life trying to be what most people consider, 'average' or normal, but I started Cambridge at fifteen. I looked all of twelve. At first, I kept to myself, I didn't speak, and then I couldn't stop. There were always one or two people who tolerated me as long as I helped them with their work, and then they understood they didn't want to be seen with the freak - I eventually finished at nineteen, with two degrees, but I had no desire to do anything. Mycroft set me up here, with Mrs. Hudson, and I would putter - eventually I hacked into the Met files, and discovered the Headless Nun case. I solved it, but I nearly died in the process and I became addicted to the painkillers..." Sherlock's voice faded and he shook his head. "You - you don't want to know this."

"It's part of you," John whispered.

"It's just - I have failed, so many times, John."

"Failed how?"

"I should know how to do this by now, on my own."

"Why?" John asked him quietly.

"Why? Because -"

"Because other people can?"

"Yes."

"Like whom?"

"What?"

"Name one person you know who does it on their own."

"My brother."

John laughed. "Are you kidding me?"

"What?"

"How many 'minions,' as you call them, does he have?"

"Dozens..."

"And yet - you think you should be able to function on your own. And does he strike you as a happy person?"

"Happy?"

"Yes. Happy."

"No. I can't ever recall a time that he was ever... happy."

"And Greg?"

"Greg?"

"Lestrade."

"Oh. Didn't know. Or if I did... what about him?"

"I haven't known him long, but he seems content enough, worried about you, but seems he would be a happy guy otherwise."

"I suppose. What's your point?"

"Since I've 'known' you - from the moment I commented on your site - I still don't know why I did that - maybe just because I wanted to stop being so alone, in spite of everything else that was wrong, and so much was wrong then, just knowing you were there made me happy, or at least smile, because I knew someone was thinking about me. Did you ever consider why you responded to my comment?"

"Even as I hit publish, I wondered." Sherlock managed to laugh, and he turned in John's arms so he could look at his face.

John grinned at him and and brushed the curls from his eyes. "One day, you'll be ready to tell me, or not. I need you to know that you don't have to do or say anything you aren't ready for. I am here because I love you as you are, not who you think I want you to be. You don't have to be strong on those days when you aren't. We're both still healing, just because it's harder to see your trauma, doesn't mean it isn't there. I know how hard you have worked to get back home, to be in a place where you can trust me as much as you do. To love me, as well and as gently as you do, takes strength that most people don't possess. Love isn't a weakness. Especially when you have known so little, to offer it to someone who has known even less - you are remarkable. No. You are. You are a gift, Sherlock. We've both survived so much to just be here still, and to be here together -"

Sherlock nodded and reached up to touch the tear that was rolling down John's cheek. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now. Are you hungry? You know what I want right now?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him and John rolled his eyes. "Yes, I always want you, but I saw that there were the makings of a Full English in the fridge - how does that sound?"

"Brilliant."

"Good. Now get up, you lanky git, so I can start cooking for you."

"For us." Sherlock whispered as he pulled John into a kiss.

"For us."

 

Thank you - S

For what? - M

For repairing her. - S

You're quite welcome. Have you played yet? - M

No, but I'm almost ready to. - S

Good. That's - I'm happy to hear that, Sherlock. - M

Good night, Myc. - S

Sherlock. - M


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another visit from 'Big Brother."

"You have questions."

John snorted as he plugged in the kettle. "Do you ever sleep? Or use the - never mind - buzzer is back in the freezer."

"I thought perhaps I could clarify a few things for you -"

John limped into the front room and sat across from Mycroft. "Of course I have questions, but they are not for you to answer. When he is ready, if he is ever ready to tell me, it's up to him."

"Good."

"Testing me again?" John raised an eyebrow and sighed. "I understand. I do."

"Do you?"

"In your place, I would wonder about me, too."

Mycroft nodded, and they sat in silence until the kettle whistled. 

"Damn."

"Allow me." Mycroft bowed and moved swiftly into the kitchen so as to not awaken his brother. He got out the tea bags and the biscuits, made them each a cup, then put everything on a tray and carried it back to the front room. He handed John his mug and sat down again, with a sigh.

"My brother is twelve years younger than I am. He was, let us say, an afterthought, I suppose. When my parents died, he was six. I was just beginning my career in government. I had been in boarding schools even before he was born, and yet - it fell to me to raise him, as we had no close relatives who were capable of rearing him. Our grandparents were not of a mind or age to do so - and I tried to do the best I could. He and I are too similar and at the same time, too different - so it has always been - we have been at odds most of our existence, and yet I have been there when he needs me, whether he wants to acknowledge that or not."

John wondered what it was costing the man across from him to speak so openly, and said nothing, but slowly drank his tea.

Mycroft met his eyes and nodded. "You will never know. One day, my brother will speak of his past 'failures' as he calls them, and I hope you will be as understanding as he has been, I'm assuming, with you."

"So - you don't know, then."

"I have removed all surveillance, audio and visual, I have even changed the angle of the CCTV cameras on Baker Street so as to give you both the privacy you require and deserve. I see you were not made aware of this."

"No. I - I appreciate the trust you are offering, Mycroft. I will not let you down."

"Do not concern yourself with my feelings - I only wish for you to take care with his. I do see that I was not mistaken in my belief that you care for him very much. He let me know that he - let me just tell you, it has been some time since he has even considered, let alone touched his violin case, and to know that he was willing to do so for you, means a great deal to me." He finished his tea and rose from Sherlock's chair. "Thank you for the tea, Dr. Watson. I shall not make any further early morning appearances, though if you should ever need to contact me. I am always available, should you require anything." He nodded and was gone as quietly as he had arrived.

John sat for a moment and finished his tea, then carefully got to his feet, placed his mug on the tray, and carried it to the kitchen, put it on the counter and made his way back to bed.

 

John rolled his eyes as Sherlock attempted to feign sleep, as he crawled back into bed next to him. "I know you're awake."

"What did he want?" Sherlock groaned as he sat up and rubbed his face.

"He thought he could 'clarify' things for me."

"What sort of 'things'?"

"Things he thought you might be hesitant to tell me."

"And...?"

"You know what I told him."

Sherlock nodded. "I know." He laid back down and gazed into John's eyes, for a long moment, then smiled gently at him. "How you love me - it astonishes me, John Watson."

John shook his head. "I hope one day soon, it will no longer surprise you, as it does today."

"You just love me so unconditionally, John, and I hope to one day deserve what you so easily offer."

"One day, love, you will know that it isn't a question of deserving, it is just a matter of fact."

"I -"

"Shhh, go back to sleep."

Sherlock curled around John and within moments was once again, fast asleep.

"I do, love you, so much, Sherlock. Never doubt that, love."


	10. Chapter 10

"Breathe."

John felt long arms and legs wrapped lightly around him, and the sound of Sherlock's heart thrumming against his fingertips. "Sher-"

"Yeah."

"What -"

"Bad dream."

"Did I - ?"

"No. Just breathe for me?"

"I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to - I -"

"Breathe."

John blew out a breath slowly and took a deep breath, and realised Sherlock was breathing with him, it was almost as if he was trying to breathe for him. They exhaled together, then John rested his head against Sherlock's chest. "I've been trying not to sleep."

Sherlock nodded.

"The things I saw, I can't unsee them - no one should see - it's worse when I don't sleep, and then crash, it all comes at me, and I can't - I don't know what to do with it."

"I have an idea," Sherlock said quietly into his hair.

"What?"

"Your blog. Hear me out. Just write for yourself or write to me, tell me - you don't even have to publish it, but you do know, what you are going through, you aren't the only one hurting like this. Remember how you found me? When I was in group - I sat there for two months and just listened to people. No, they weren't exactly like me, but we were thinking and feeling similar things, and the day, the morning I posted about Billy - just so I could try to - I don't know, tell you something personal - I spoke for the first time. I left the room right afterwards, but I went back the next day... and I kept showing up. I know it will be difficult and seem useless at first, but maybe if you break the stories down, into things you can deal with..."

"Sherlock -"

"Thing is, you won't be doing it on your own, I will be here. I know I wasn't there, and I can't know what it was like, but you can tell me, show me. And I won't leave you."

"You can't know that."

"I can and I do." Sherlock kissed his hair, then pulled back to see John watching him. "I will be here for you, John. I want to be here for you. Do you want - wait, it may sound terrible, I'm out of practice, but - I'll be right back."

"Sher-"

"I'll be right back."

John sighed and stared at the ceiling, his shoulder was aching again, his hand in spasms from holding it closed so tightly. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe... and then there was music. A slow, gentle lullaby that he vaguely remembered knowing from somewhere, and he could hear the joy in it and knew, somehow he knew they would be just fine.


End file.
